Blossoming Flames
by mel-jane
Summary: What if Katniss and Peeta ate the berries? What if there were no victor for the 75th Hunger Games? It's the Quarter Quell, and Lacey Dawn has been chosen as tribute. As she is pulled deeper and deeper into the Games, she must become two things: a fighter... ...and the Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1

I'm at the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the small television in the corner of the room. The cameras are zoomed in on Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, and the shock on their faces is clear as the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith announces the second rule change in this year's Hunger Games. At first, I think Peeta is going to take his own life, what with the whole star-crossed lovers deal. But then Katniss reaches into her pocket and pulls something out, and I immediately recognize the dark berries in her hand.

Nightlock. Eating them would mean sure and sudden death. Everyone in Panem must be holding their breath as they wait to see if the Gamemakers will interfere. Right as their handfuls of berries reach their mouths, Claudius's voice is booming in the arena again, shouting for them to stop. But it's too late. They've already swallowed the berries, and in less than a minute they'll be dead. There's nothing the Capitol's medics can do to save them, no matter how fast they rush out of the hovercrafts and perform whatever emergency procedures they think will work.

The Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games will have no victor.

As this realization dawns upon me, I look around, expecting something dramatic to happen. But my living room remains as bland as ever, and I turn my attention back to the screen where Claudius is sitting at a desk next to Caesar Flickerman.

"That folks," Caesar begins to explain as a graphic of the nightlock berries and bush appears on the screen behind him, "is nightlock. Extremely poisonous unless medical attention is given _immediately._"

"Yes, yes," Claudius adds. "These next few minutes are critical. The Capitol's best doctors are working right now, doing whatever it takes to save our tribute's lives."

Save their lives? How odd, considering the Capitol sent them there to die in the first place.

"No official word yet on their conditions, but it should be coming in soon." Caesar's hands are clasped tightly on the desk and his knuckles are white with the strength of his grip.

Then Claudius puts his hand to what must be some sort of microphone in his ear, closes his eyes, and sighs. "I've received word that Peeta Mellark has just died."

"But Katniss is still alive?" Caesar asks eagerly, leaning towards Claudius and gripping the edges of the desk.

"Yes, she is," he confirms with a sigh of relief. "And I now have the honor of presenting the people of Panem with the victor of the Seventy-Fourth annual Hunger Ga—"

He stops midsentence and puts his hand up to his ear again. The shock and terror is clear on his face, and I have an idea of what he's about to tell us before he even opens his mouth. "It's seems," he begins, but clears his throat and starts again. "It seems Miss Everdeen has just… passed away."

I think I hear every gasp in Panem after he says this. I'm sure a lot of people knew this was coming, especially after they ate the berries. But for the Hunger Games to not have a victor is unimaginable. Sure, they'll probably still call Katniss the _official_ victor, but there's no way anyone in the districts will consider her a real victor. The real victor lives to be crowned, to come home and share their wealth, to live a long (though not always prosperous) life, and to give all of Panem hope.

That's the point of a victor: hope. But the Capitol hasn't given us hope this year. They've given us something far more deadly.

They've given us a martyr.

That's when I start to hear them; the shouts, the crashes, the wails. I rush to the window and look down at the scene unfolding below me. Men and women of all ages are rushing through the streets, pushing and shoving and breaking things as they go. It's sort of unclear where they're going, but they're all going in the same direction and I have a feeling their destination is the Justice Building.

I look behind me when I hear quick and heavy footsteps in the direction of the stairs. My dad bursts into the room a moment later, his eyes wide and his light brown hair disheveled.

"Lacey." His voice, barely louder than a whisper, cracks as he says my name. He clears his throat, pushes his glasses up his nose, and tries again. "Lacey, are you okay?"

I look down, then back out the window. "I'm fine." A piece of my whitish-blonde hair falls into my face and I tuck it behind my ear.

"Are you sure?" I hear him move towards me. His hand is on my shoulder and I can smell the earthy scent that says he's been working in the flower shop downstairs. "It must be hard watching them die. Especially since you knew them."

"I wasn't close with either of them," I say, looking across the street at a woman comforting a crying little boy.

"I know, I just thought…" Dad starts, but his voice fades away and he sighs.

"What do you think's gonna happen now?" I ask. "Now that there's no victor."

My dad has always been honest with me, and he doesn't change that now. "I don't know," he whispers, and we sit and watch the last of the mob run past. "Where's your mother?" he asks after a minute.

"Asleep, I think," I answer. Without another word, his hand slips off my shoulder and he saunters into the next room.

I think about what my dad said, about it being hard watching Peeta and Katniss die. Of course, I feel sorry for them, for their families and their friends. That's how I feel every year when I watch both of our tributes die. It's how everyone feels, isn't it?

This year _was_ a little odd though. Peeta and Katniss were both the same age as me and we'd been classmates since we were six. I'd talked to Peeta on a few occasions; my friends were friends with his friends; etcetera, etcetera. But Katniss? I didn't even know her first name until she volunteered for her little sister at the Reaping.

I jump at the sound of the bell that signals someone has opened the door downstairs. I run down the narrow, wooden staircase in my bare feet and ratty old t-shirt and jeans without even thinking about who the customer might be. Luckily, it's not a customer, but my closest friend Asper. She immediately runs up to me and starts gabbing away, the gossip she is.

"Oh, my gosh. Did you see what just happened?" Her green eyes are wide and her light brown hair is curlier and frizzier than ever. "My dad went with the mob, but Mom made me and Cal stay inside until they all passed. I can't believe what's happening. They're both dead! The Hunger Games _doesn't have a winner_! This is insane!"

I wait patiently for her to finish, used to her mindless babble after ten years of friendship. But she's right. This _is _insane. I simply nod and let her continue to blather away as I make my way towards the front window of the shop, where the words _Dawn Family Florist_ are engraved in the glass in swirling, twirling cursive. I can no longer hear the noises of the crowd, but I can see a reddish yellow glow in the evening sky that can't be the setting sun since it's in the west.

"What do you think they're gonna do?" I hear Asper say when I direct my attention on her once again.

"Who?" I turn around and lean my elbows on the window sill.

"I dunno," she responds. "Peacekeepers, the Capitol, the Districts. This is gonna be a mess." She plucks a yellow tulip out of a vase and twirls in around in her fingers.

"Only one way to find out," I say walking behind the counter. I stand up on a chair and flick on the small television in the corner. Caesar sits at the same desk he did before, except he is now accompanied by President Snow, who is speaking now.

"—very tragic. I truly wish we could have saved at least one of them, if not both." It's hard to tell on television just what his expression is, though I'm sure he's managing to keep it as unrevealing as he can. If he's nervous, afraid, angry, or absolutely delighted, no one will be able to tell.

"It's one of the most heartbreaking tales I've ever seen," Caesar says shaking his head. "Even if I did love someone as much as they clearly loved each other, I'm not sure I would be able to do such a thing just to be with them."

"Yes," Snow says, but something in his voice hints that he doesn't exactly agree. "Love can be a… funny thing. But as we said before, since Mr. Mellark passed away first, Miss Everdeen is the official victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Her family and the rest of District 12 will be receiving the usual rewards, but there will be no victory tour, unfortunately."

"Indeed, very unfortunate." Caesar seems very sincere when he speaks, and I don't doubt it. The star-crossed lovers were definitely his favorites this year. He quickly recomposes himself and looks at the camera. "Well, that's all for today. This has been Caesar Flickerman and President Snow," he says turning to his companion. "And we'll see you again for the announcement of the Quarter Quell."

The screen cuts to the credits, and Asper immediately resumes her babble.

"I bet the Quarter Quell will have something to do with Katniss and Peeta," she says as she slams her hands the counter and leans towards me.

I shrug and purse my lips. "I think that might just be a safe bet." I glance out the window again, but I can't see the mysterious glow beyond the buildings that block my view.

**~/***\~**

I'm sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast the next morning when something strange happens. I hear a static-y click from the living room, and then a voice from what must be the television.

"Attention District 12," it starts, and I instantly recognize it as that of the mayor. I run into the room to see what exactly is going on. "All able citizens are to report promptly to the City Circle at eleven o' clock this morning. Attendance is mandatory; that is all." The television then flickers off, and I hear the familiar sound of footsteps from downstairs.

"Are you okay?" Dad asks as he comes into the room.

"Dad, nothing even happened," I say rolling my eyes. My dad has always been really protective and over-concerned about my well-being.

"Oh, right," he says.

"Do you know what it's probably about?" I ask of the strange call to assembly.

"The riot," he answers subtly. Late last night, he came into my room and told me that a lot of people had rushed to the Justice Building after the Games ended and started a huge riot. Peacekeepers quickly took control of the situation, but not before a significant amount of damage was done. Windows were smashed, people were hurt, and one building even caught fire—which explained the fiery glow from last evening.

At that moment, I notice someone peeking around the corner of the doorway. My mother, still in her pajamas and her blonde hair a mess, looks first at the television, then at me and Dad, then down at the floor. She twiddles her fingers in front of her face and almost looks like a child that has done something wrong and knows she's about to get punished for it.

I look up at my dad. "Why don't you go get ready?" he says, even though we still have an hour until we have to be at the City Circle.

I nod and he walks over to my mother and holds her in his arms. I can hear him mumbling soothing words to her as I leave the room.

I lock my door and collapse on my bed, laying on my back and staring up at the ceiling. My mother—if I can even consider her that much anymore—is a shadow of her former self. The woman who raised me with a pearly white smile for eleven years is gone, replaced by this other, strange woman. She's barely spoken a word to me or my dad in six years and I'm not even sure she understands half of what goes on anymore. Six years of silence, six years since the explosion.

When I was eleven, there was a really bad explosion in one of the mines. A lot of people lost fathers and brothers, my mother being one of them. Her brother was working in the mine that day, and his wife and my mother had been some of the first people to rush to the mine to help the wounded men. I'm not sure what happened or what she saw that made her the way she is—she either wouldn't or couldn't tell us—but she hasn't been the same since.

Maybe it the trauma of seeing all of those horrors: I'd heard some bodies were found with their faces melted to crack in the walls, frozen in their attempt at one last breath of air. Or maybe it was just the sheer impact of losing her best friend—besides my dad—and her brother at the same time.

That's why my dad's so protective of me. He doesn't want to lose me like he did my mother.

I lay there on my bed for a while longer, tracing the designs on the ceiling with my eyes. At some point I get up and drag myself into the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. I drag a comb through my shoulder length hair and part it to the side, letting it hang loose. Back in my room, I put on a white, flowy skirt that goes down to my knees, and a blue long-sleeve blouse.

My mother is sitting at the kitchen table, slowly scooping spoonfuls of cereal into her mouth. She doesn't even look at me when I enter, so I just grab a glass of water and go downstairs without exchanging a word with her.

My dad is there, sitting behind the counter and watching the sole news station broadcast from District 12 itself. Each district has its own station for broadcasting local information, and a select few from the district get to live a life of luxury as reporters. A woman with black hair pulled neatly back sits at a desk, staring expressionlessly into the camera as she reads off of a piece of paper.

"Last night, two men and one woman who were believed to have started the riot were taken into custody. This morning a public meeting will take place in the City Circle, and all able citizens are required to attend."

I hop up on the counter and sit quietly with my dad as she continues.

"We have not been informed what will be said or done at this meeting, but head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread has informed us that the three prisoners from last evening will be the subject. We will now go to Elphias Black with weather."

Dad sighs and gets up to turn the television off. "I don't like the sound of this," he says rubbing his temples.

Romulus Thread replaced our last Head Peacekeeper about halfway through the Hunger Games. He's a lot stricter and harsher than the last one. It doesn't really affect me or other higher class families in 12; we have no reason to break the law. But for some people from the Seam who have to hunt illegally just to get food on the table, it's not the same story. A few weeks ago Romulus gave a boy forty lashes when he caught him with a poached turkey. He also had the Hob—the district's black market—burned to the ground. I can't imagine what he has planned for today.

At quartet till eleven, we join the stream of people making their way to the City Circle, my dad holding my mother's hand the whole way. The Circle is only ever this full on Reaping Day, so it feels odd not to have to check in or stand with the rest of the seventeen-year-olds.

The damage from last night is clear. Broken windows; scorch marks on one building; and all sorts of vandalism on the Justice Building, in front of which almost twenty Peacekeepers stand with who must be the three prisoners. Each of them is tied to a whipping post. Romulus prowls back and forth at the edge of the stage, his hands behind his back, finger curled around his whip.

As soon as the clock strikes eleven, he holds his hand up as a gesture for silence. Then he speaks, and his voice is so loud and full that he doesn't even need a microphone.

"As you all know," he begins, "a riot took place here last night. It was _the _worst in the history of District 12. The damage is still evident around you," he says holding his hand out and sweeping it across the City Circle. He pulls his hand behind his back again and stands beside the first male prisoner.

"I know things may have been different under Head Peacekeeper Clay—" He lets the whip uncurl in his hand. "—but I will not tolerate such _outrageous _actions." He stands behind the man, whose face is pale with fear. "This," he starts, and cracks the whip across the man's back, who cringes in pain, "is what happens—" He moves to the next man and repeats the previous process. "—when you break—" He lashes the whip across the woman's back and she wails in pain. "—my rules."

A few babies and small children can be heard crying or screaming, but the rest of the crowd is silent.

"If something like this happens again," he growls in a low voice, stepping to the front of the stage again, "I promise I will punish however many it takes for you all to learn your lesson." He sweeps the crowd with a glare before speak again. "Sixty lashes each, along with a life sentence in prison, has been issued to these v_andals._" He spits out the words as if he doesn't like the taste of it. "You are all dismissed, unless you'd prefer to stay and watch them receive their other fifty-nine lashes." Something in the way he looks at the crowd is almost daring someone, anyone, to object, just so he can have more people to use as an example of his power.

Suddenly there's a hand on my back, and my dad is pushing me out of the crowd towards our house. My mother has her face buried in his chest and is clutching the front of his button-up shirt so hard her knuckles are white.

Others are following suit—I doubt anyone but the prisoners' family or friends will stay. I'm not sure why, but there must be something about seeing your loved ones hurting that forces you to watch. I've never had to watch any of my loved ones really hurt like that—my grandmother died peacefully in her sleep and I'm not sure my mother actually feels anymore. I hope I never have to.

**~/***\~**

The summer months fade slowly into fall and winter. As they do, the district assimilates itself into the new customs Romulus has forced us to follow. He sticks to every rule like glue, and there's hardly a soul who will defy him. Whippings and other public punishments have become less frequent, though, either because people really have stopped breaking the law or they're once again managing to sneak around without being caught.

As promised nearly six months ago, President Snow is scheduled to appear on television to announce the Quarter Quell. My dad and I sit on the couch at seven-thirty as Caesar Flickerman appears on the television to talk about last year's Hunger Games. He mostly focuses on the fact that flames and mockingjays are all the rage in Capitol Couture. Then he announces that it's time for the third Quarter Quell and introduces Snow.

The anthem plays as the president takes the stage. A boy dressed in a white suit follows him, holding a wooden box. When the anthem ends, Snow speaks, reminding us all of the Dark Days, and that it was dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary of the Hunger Games would be marked by a Quarter Quell. It would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

His words are very pointed, and I suspect it's because several districts are probably beginning to rebel right now.

Snow goes on to recall what happened in the previous Quarter Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

I can't imagine what it must have been like to have to choose which two children from District 12 were going to die that year. It must have been even worse for the tributes, being turned over by their own neighbors instead of having their names drawn from the reaping ball.

"On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

Forty-seven to one. I can't imagine it. The odds really weren't in our favor that year, but somehow our only living victory, Haymitch Abernathy, managed to defy those odds…

"And now we honor our Quarter Quell," says the president. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. I can see the tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. Whoever devised the Quarter Quell system had prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. The president removes and envelope clearly marked with a 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he read, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that the choices we make can either build us up or tear us down, each tribute must select another from the current pool to be their partner in the Hunger Games. If both members of the team are still standing at the end of the Games, they will both be crowned victor."

The anthem plays once again as Snow and the little boy exit the stage, and then the credits roll.

I look over at my dad, who has a thoughtful look on his face. "Interesting," he mumbles.

It is kind of interesting. Maybe Asper was right; this _has _to have something to do with Katniss and Peeta. I'm not sure why, though. But I do know that Asper will have plenty of ideas to share with me at school tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

As I predicted, Asper begins babbling to me the moment I see her the next morning.

"I told you it was going to have something to do with Katniss and Peeta!" she practically yells in my face. We stand in front of the school with some forty or so other students, all milling about until the bell rings for first hour.

"Maybe it has something to do with some of the rebellions, too," Asper continues as we walk inside. "With the whole, 'the choices we make' thing." She imitates Snow's voice on the last couple words.

"Maybe," I say, not bothering to come up with any of my own ideas.

"Who would you pick?"

I blink and look at her. "What?"

"If you were reaped, who would you pick?" she asks again, leaning up against a wall.

"I don't know," I say looking down. "Someone who knows how to survive, I guess. But not someone I'm close to; I wouldn't want to risk having someone I care about die." I think for a moment if I have anything to add. Then I look up at Asper.

She has her lips pursed and isn't looking at me but at everyone who passes us, probably examining them for desirable traits. "You know who I'd pick?" she asks. "Someone like Tucker Roth."

She points to a boy down the hall. He's our age, but I don't think I've ever spoken a word to him.

"He's pretty attractive, which would get a lot of sponsors," she explains. "And he seems like he'd be willing to fight."

"Yeah," I say. "But he's dumb as a rock."

Asper sighs. "True," she agrees with a scowl.

I find myself doing as she does: scanning people as they pass by me, looking for someone who might be a good partner in the Hunger Games. There are certain individual traits that different people possess—strength, smarts, attractiveness, specific skills—but no one really has a good combination of them. I'm just about to decide that District 12 has very little chance of winning the Games this year when someone walks in and changes my mind.

Aiden Perthshire is a year older than me. His dark hair and skin immediately give away the fact that he's from the Seam, not to mention his second-hand clothes. He's tall—at least a foot more than me—and very skinny, as if he hasn't quite grown into himself yet. He walks with his head down, making him look small. Despite his feeble appearance now, I know he's hardly as he seems. He's one of those hunters who's probably managing to sneak through the fence and trade what he catches right under Romulus's nose. Though we've never traded with him (He probably doesn't have much use for flowers.), I've seen and heard about plenty of his work. Anything from squirrels to deer, and I even heard he and another boy took down a huge bear.

I think that if Aiden Perthshire ends up in the Hunger Games, maybe, just maybe, District 12 has a chance of winning two years in a row.

I'm pulled back into reality by the sound of the bell that signals the start of first hour. Reading and math go by in a blur; they're the easiest subjects for me. I do pay some attention in history since it's my favorite. It's not only (almost) a relief to hear about a time when there were no Hunger Games, but also interesting to learn about what life used to be like. Some of the things people used to do seem silly now: worshiping all-powerful deities, celebrating holidays where magical beings brought candy and presents, wasting money on expensive trips to other countries. Sure, they all sound like fun, but they hardly seem practical.

As usual, class ends before I feel I've gotten my full. Asper and I walk outside together for lunch and sit at a table under a tree. A few of our friends (well, more Asper's than mine) join us and Asper makes quick conversation with them, but I just listen absentmindedly while eating my bagged lunch. I soon find myself staring off into space, daydreaming about living a hundred, two hundred, a thousand years ago.

"Lacey." I jump at the sound of Asper's voice. I look up at her and blink a few times in confusion.

"What?" I ask.

"Otto Riggs" is all she says.

Otto is a boy in our class, and that's just about all I know about him. I've never talked to him or had anything to do with him.

"He's been staring at you for the past thirty minutes."

I raise my eyebrow at her, not really believing the fact that a boy would stare at me for a full thirty minutes for whatever reason.

"Don't believe me?" she asks. "See for yourself." She points her fork across the yard.

I turn around and look in the direction she's pointing. Like she said, Otto is looking my way, but he drops his head a few seconds after he sees me looking back at him. I blush and quickly turn back to Asper, who's smiling and raising an eyebrow at me.

"You should go talk to him," Asper suggests, and I immediately object.

"What? No, no, no!" The only boys I've ever actually talked to are either related to me, customers, or Asper's brother Cal. If Otto is staring at me for the reason Asper probably thinks he is, I'm in no shape to talk to him.

"C'mon!" she begs. "He seems nice. And he's cute," she says winking.

I look back at him to try to confirm what Asper said. He's all the way across the yard, so I can't really see much. I don't know what color his eyes are, but he has sandy blond hair that isn't anything unusual for a townie. He's rather muscular, and I remember he's a carpenter. I suppose he is cute like Asper said, but I'm not exactly interested in having a significant other right now.

"I just… I don't even know him," I explain. "I'm not like you. I can't just walk up to a guy and sweet-talk him into taking me out on a date or something."

Asper rolls her eyes. "You don't have to sweet-talk him. You just have to talk to him."

I look back at Otto for a second then shake my head. "I just can't. I'm not exactly great at starting conversations, anyway," I mumble.

"You're going to talk to him whether you like him or not," she demands, shoving a bite of salad into her mouth. "Eventually," she adds.

I roll my eyes at her and finish my sandwich. The bell rings for us to go back to class, and hard as I try to concentrate in the next three classes, my mind can't help but wander towards Otto. It doesn't help that he's in two of those classes. I catch myself staring at the back of his head at least ten times and get scolded for not paying attention twice. I'm relieved when the final bell rings. Now I can go home and work until all thoughts of Otto are out of my mind.

If only it were so easy.

Asper and I walk out of the building together, and I clutch my books to my chest as I half-listen to her gossip about something I'm not entirely paying attention to. Instead, I do my usual mind-wandering and catch sight of Aiden Perthshire, which gets me thinking about the Hunger Games again. I wonder why the Capitol would make the Quarter Quell have something to do with Katniss and Peeta. Of course, relating it to the choices we make is obviously pointed at whatever rebels are planning to take action right now, but by allowing two victors, they're just promoting the star-crossed lovers' rebellion against them. What are they planning? It doesn't make sense…

I'm caught completely off guard when I hit something solid, sending my books crashing to the ground. I hear a disappointed sigh, which tells me I've run straight into another person while I was busy daydreaming.

"I'm so sorry," I say without looking up. I immediately kneel down on the ground and start picking up my books.

"It's fine," the other person, a boy, says kneeling down to pick up his books, too. "You're Lacey, right?"

I freeze as I recognize the voice and look up into Otto's sky blue eyes. My heart jumps into my throat and stops beating for a few seconds, and I nod to confirm his question.

"I'm Otto," he says, even though he must know I already know that. Our school isn't that big; it's not hard to know everyone's name.

"Oh" is all I can manage to choke out. I grab the last of my books and stand up, and Otto follows.

"Are you doing anything later?" he asks.

Without even thinking, I answer, "I have to work." That's when I remember Asper is still there, and I can feel her glaring at me. Then I realize that Otto is asking me out. "But I'm free this weekend," I quickly add.

Otto smiles and I can feel the color rising in my cheeks. "Cool. Maybe we can have lunch together or something," he suggests.

I nod and smile a little, feeling my heart fluttering in my chest. "That sounds great."

"Yeah," he says. "I'll see you around, then." He waves before joining the thin stream of people making their ways home. I stand there and wave, too, and I think even my heart is smiling like a bumbling idiot. As soon as he's gone, Asper reminds me that she's still there by jumping up and down in circles around me.

"He just asked you out!" she exclaims clapping her hands. She squeals with excitement and hugs me so hard I almost drop my books again.

"Yeah," I say, more to myself than her, as the fact really starts to dawn on me. Maybe I was wrong; maybe having a boy's interest in me isn't so bad. Maybe it's actually a good thing.

I find myself smiling the whole walk home.

The familiar tingle of the bell greets me when I open the door. My dad looks up from his writing at the counter and raises an eyebrow at me.

"What are you so giddy about?" he asks.

I stop in my tracks and quickly purse my lips when I realize I'm still smiling. "Giddy?" I ask.

"Yes," he confirms, "giddy. You know, excited, happy, _contended._" My dad enjoys using big words that no one knows the meaning to. I also know what most of his big words mean, but only because he's hammered them into my mind.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, stepping towards the counter and setting my books down.

He takes off his glasses and shakes his head. "Well, I know exactly what will get your mind off what's making you so _giddy._" He nods towards a small stack of papers next to him. "Start putting these orders together. Ben'll be by around five to pick them up."

Ben is our delivery boy, and also my cousin. After my uncle died, it was hard for Ben and my aunt to make ends meet, especially since Ben was only eight and couldn't find any work. So my dad gave him a job, and even though we can't pay him much it still helps. Ben's also the closest thing to a little brother I've ever had, so it's nice to be able to see him so often.

I groan but grab the papers anyway and head into the greenhouse connected to the house. Despite the chill of winter outside, it's rather hot in here. I take off my jacket and lay it on a bench and start arranging flowers into pots. Four purple tulips here, six red orchids there, some yellow loosestrifes, too. The work is repetitive—pick, cut, place—but also calming. An hour and a half goes by in no time, and before I know it I'm done. I tag each bunch then place them on the counter for Ben to pick up when he comes by.

Now I'll take over the counter for the next three hours. I wash my dirt-covered hands before, and then my dad goes upstairs to work on finances or maybe read a bit of the newspaper. I'll use this time to work on the few pages of homework I have to do.

Three people enter the store in the time before we close. The first is Ben who stays long enough for me to ask how he's doing and figure out that he has a crush on a girl in his class. I send him off, and about forty-five minutes later one of our regular customers, Mrs. Alder, buys a bag of plant food and tells me her miniature flower garden is looking lovely. The last person comes in at about seven-thirty and his presence is too good to be true.

I look up from a math problem when I hear the bell ring. A boy, tall and skinny with dark brown hair, steps through the door almost cautiously.

"How can I help you?" I ask pushing my homework aside and sitting up in my chair.

"Um," he starts moving towards the counter. "I wanted to get something for my sister."

He looks up at me, and that's when I realize it's Aiden Perthshire. I blink at him a few times, slightly shocked at his presence. But then I remember that he's a paying customer and I need to not stare at him. I clear my throat and ask, "Well, what do you think she'd like?"

"Uh…" He sweeps the room with his eyes and then rests them on me. "She likes purple."

I wait to see if he has anything else to say, then nod my head. "Okay. One sec." I hop off the chair and turn to the bookshelf behind me. On most of the shelves are small samples of most of the flowers we have. On the middle one, though, five binders lean against each other labeled: size, color, type, alphabetical, and season. I grab the one labeled 'color' and lay it on the counter, opening up to the purple section.

"Why don't you look through there and see if there's anything you like?" I say pushing it towards him.

He looks down at the page and I can see his eyes darting from picture to picture. Then they stop and he plants his finger on one. "This one. Rhododendron." He completely butchers the word and I suppress a small giggle.

"It's roh-duh-den-druhn, actually" I tell him.

"Oh," he says looking down.

I realize I must have embarrassed him and give myself a mental kick. "They're kind of expensive. But there's also these…" I flip the page and point to another picture: azaleas. "They're half the price of the other ones."

He looks at the picture for a moment longer before nodding his head. "Yeah, sounds good." He looks up at me—actually at _me _and not some spot to my left or above my head—and I notice his eyes are a really light brown, more like amber. Kind of like fire.

We don't say much else other than to arrange a delivery date, and he pays for the flowers and thanks me. That's when I realize that, for someone so quiet and introvert, he seems to push his limits to be polite. I wave before he turns and leaves, but he doesn't return the gesture. That's the last close encounter I have with Aiden Perthshire until the reaping.


	3. Chapter 3

A loud boom—probably an explosion—then an annoying ringing in my ears. My chest burns and I smell smoke. It's mostly dark except for a few small lights: fuzzy, as if they're being blocked by a cloud of dust. People are yelling all around me.

"Where are you?"

"Get out!"

"Someone help me!"

The last voice sounds familiar, but I can't quite remember just whose it is.

"Hello?" I cry out. Something tells me I need to find this person, whoever they are. I try to start moving, but my entire body feels like lead. I hold my hands out in front of me, grappling around in the dark as I struggle to walk forward.

Then I hear my name. It's muffled, but I can tell it's the same voice from before.

"I'm here!" I say. Suddenly, it feels crucial that I find this person. My chest aches, but I'm not sure whether it's because of the smoke or because of the desperation pumping adrenaline through my system. My eyes burn with tears and my breathing picks up.

"Lacey." There's the voice again; sounding pain-stricken and weak.

"Where are you?" I try to shout, but my voice comes out as only a cracked whisper.

Then—not slowly, but not suddenly either—I find myself looking not at an impenetrable wall of grey, but at the lamp on my nightstand. Gradually, my eyes adjust to the dim morning light filtering in through my curtains and I realize I'm lying in bed. Already, details of the dream are fading and I shake my head as if that will help get it out of my memory faster. I have more important things to worry about than some dream.

The reaping is today, and I feel more nervous than ever. My name is in that glass ball six times, which is a lot less than some other people, so I shouldn't really worry. But there's a chance that even if I'm not reaped, I'll still end up in the arena. I take a deep breath and hope that the odds are in my favor today.

I lay in bed for another two hours—shifting from being asleep to being awake about every fifteen minutes. It's ten-thirty by the time I finally get up and make myself breakfast. My dad doesn't make me work on reaping day, but that doesn't mean he won't. My mother is probably still asleep, as usual.

I stretch the next hour by pulling out a few blank pieces of paper and a pencil to do some drawing. It's not something I'm particularly good at; just something to pass the time. I find myself sketching something very unfamiliar to me: the woods. The closest I've ever been is right inside the fence. That's close enough to see the trees and smell the grass and the dirt, to hear the sounds of nature calling to me. I can't count how many times I've wanted to go past the fence and see just what it's like on the other side, but there's always been something holding me back. It's not quite fear, even now that the fence is always electrified; more like respect, but for whom or what I'm not quite sure.

Twelve o' clock rolls around and I convince myself to trade my doodling for a shower. The cool water rolls over my body for quite a while before I actually wash myself. I get out and wrap myself in a towel, then pick my brush up off the counter and run it through my hair. I go into my room and slip on my undergarments before pulling my dress out of the closet and laying it on my bed.

I examine the dress for a moment. It's quite different than the baby blue one I had last year, which I accidentally tore taking it off its hanger a few months ago. The top half is white, with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. A flowy black skirt starts at my waist and goes down just above my knees. I pull part of my hair back in a black ribbon and slip on a pair of sandals. I top it all off with a necklace: a wooden carving of two doves painted white. My grandfather made it for my grandmother when they were young. They gave it to my father when he turned thirteen and said that he would give it to the person he loves, and then he gave it to me when I turned thirteen with the same message.

At quarter after one, we head for the square, my dad holding onto my mother as if both their lives depend on it. I part ways with them and stand in line to sign in, looking around the square. It's usually one of the most pleasant places in the district, but today—like every other reaping—it's a rather austere scene. Camera crews on rooftops and around the stage; speakers, a microphone, and other equipment set up on the stage; Peacekeepers everywhere I look.

Suddenly, I feel someone press their fingers onto my palm before sliding them between mine. A familiar smell of fresh cut wood fills my nostrils; my heartbeat picks up and a small smile steals its way onto my face.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Otto mimics Effie Trinket's Capitol accent, his cool breath tickling my ear. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

I look over my shoulder at him. His shoes are shiny but already being scuffed by the unpaved ground, and little spots of dirt dot the hems of his pressed black pants. The top two buttons of his shirt are opened and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His hair falls just above his eyes, the corners of which are crinkling from his smile.

"Stop it," I say, playfully nudging him with my shoulder. "This is _not_ the time."

"Fine," he huffs. "Later, then."

My smile widens at the thought of later, when the next two—no, four tributes are on their way to the Capitol and I can celebrate getting through another reaping. And spend time with Otto. Ever since our little date a few months ago, the connection between us has been completely undeniable and indivisible. We're more or less in a relationship, and it looks as if it's going to last a while longer.

We sign in and Otto gives me a quick peck on the cheek and a whisper of "Good luck" before joining the seventeens on the boys' side. I find Asper, dressed in a pale yellow dress, already gossiping to another girl.

The square starts to get hotter and more claustrophobic as both people and tension pile in. I look up at the stage, where three people sit in chairs at the back of the stage. The first is Mayor Undersee, whose daughter Madge I've talked to on a few occasions. The second is Effie Trinket, and she's traded her pink wig for a metallic gold one. The reds, oranges, and yellows of her outfit remind me of the flames that can only be a reference to the girl on fire.

The last, shockingly, is Haymitch Abernathy. Ever since I can remember, he's either not shown up or stumbled on stage halfway through the ceremony in a drunken stupor. Today, though, he sits upright in his chair in an expensive-looking suit, his hair neatly combed back, and his face clean-shaved. He's tapping his foot rapidly, surely a result of the apparent lack of alcohol in his system.

The clock strikes two and the mayor takes the podium, gives his usual speech about the Dark Days and reads the list of victors, then hands the audience's attention to Effie Trinket. She takes the stage, bright and bubbly as ever, and trills, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

She gives us a short speech about how much of an honor it is to be District 12's representative once again, and her words actually seem genuine this year. Then it's time for the drawing. "Ladies first!" she says as she always does, and takes her place next to the glass ball with the girls' names in it.

Surprisingly, I feel totally relaxed. My chances are some of the slimmest out there; I have nothing to worry about, really. My eyes wander around the square, and something on a rooftop catches my eye: a small bird with a black body and a red and yellow head. A tanager, I think it's called. It hops around and lets out a short tweet before flying off. In this time, Effie Trinket has called the female tribute's name, but I've just missed it.

Our colorful representative is looking around the crowd, standing high on her toes to see where the "lucky" contestant is. I too look around, only to find everyone around me has turned their attention to me.

My eyes widen and my heart all but stops. No, they can't be staring at me. There's no way my name was called. I look at Asper to find her jaw has dropped, a look of pure devastation on her face.

"Lacey Dawn?" Effie Trinket repeats my name, and it echoes around the square like a final diagnosis of some terminal illness.

I suddenly realize that I've forgotten to breathe and I suck in air like it's the last I'll get for a while. Panic rises in my chest, and I put most of my energy into keeping it from bursting out. I use the rest to move, to walk the few feet between where I'm standing and the stairs that lead up to the stage. I stumble on the last step, earning a few gasps and other sounds of sympathy from the crowd.

Effie Trinket gives me a quick pat on the back before scurrying over to the boys' ball. As I stand there, I realize I'm absolutely trembling. I concentrate on holding back the tears burning my eyes, on taking deep, even breaths, on not falling apart in front of all these people. I don't look at Asper, nor Otto, and most certainly not my parents.

Flynn Greenlaw is the other name called, and a boy around thirteen or fourteen takes the stage next to me. He's clearly from the Seam, but he shows no sign of fear as he faces the crowd.

Then Effie Trinket says something that I don't quite hear, and then holds the microphone in front of me. I realize then that I need to pick someone to go into the Games with me. My heart pounds against my ribs, like a wild animal battling its way out of a cage. I can't help but look at Otto and see that he wears a similar expression to Asper. When he notices me looking at him, he presses his lips together in a tight line and nods his head quickly. _No_, I think. _Not him. I can't do that to him._

I look past him, at the group of eighteen-year-olds behind him. I don't know many of them; I wouldn't feel so guilty picking one of them. And maybe they'd be strong enough to get one if not both of us out alive. And that's when I find him.

Aiden Perthshire is looking at a spot somewhere to his left, probably relieved that his name will never again have a chance of being fished out of that ball. He turns his head to look back up at the stage, but doesn't seem to register that I'm looking at him.

His name passes through my lips for the first time: foreign, almost leaving an odd taste in my mouth. I can see his shock from here, and something else I can't quite interpret exactly. He pushes through the boys around him and marches up to the stage, fists clenched at his sides, jaw set, chin up. As he draws closer, I realize that something is anger.

That's just enough to break me. Tears spill down my cheeks and I'm no longer able to control my breathing. Now I just hope that my legs can hold me long enough to get to get to my goodbye room.

The male tribute picks his partner, and an older girl jogs up to the stage. Effie Trinket then presents District 12 with the tributes of the 75th annual Hunger Games, and I'm not surprised that when she calls for applause, the crowd instead gives us a three-finger salute. Peacekeepers immediately rush us into the Justice Building, up the elevator, and leave us in our individual waiting rooms.

I collapse on the couch, digging my fingers into the deep red velvet. Moments later, my dad bursts into the room and wraps his arms tightly around me. I let the tears flow freely then, let sobs rack my body. Fear, guilt, and grief overwhelm me. I try to calm down as my dad strokes my hair and tells me it's going to be okay.

Something in the corner of the room catches my eye. A woman sitting in one of the chairs, staring blankly ahead. The sight of my mother ignites a sudden anger in me, like boiling water in my chest. Doesn't she care that her only daughter has just been reaped? Doesn't she care that this may be the last time she ever sees me? Doesn't she care that I might die?

I keep the thoughts to myself and just cry harder.

Too soon, Peacekeepers enter to say that our time is up. My dad gives me a kiss on the forehead and says "I love you" about a million times and I repeat it back a million times. Then he takes my mother's hand, and the Peacekeepers shut the door on him before either of us can even say goodbye.

I wipe my tears away and attempt to regain control of my breathing in preparation for my next visitor.

Asper enters and stands at the other side of the room for a few moments, clearly trying very hard not to cry.

"How're you doin', bud?" she says with a weak smile that doesn't hold long.

I take in a deep breath and nod my head. "Okay." It's a slight exaggeration.

"Okay," she whispers. She purses her lips and sits next to me on the couch. "You're my best friend, ya know? I don't know what I'm gonna do without you."

It's then that I realize that she's accepted the fact that I'm probably going to die in the arena. I'm not quite sure if I myself have done the same.

"And no matter what happens," she starts, "I'll still be betting on you."

I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. We sit in silence for a while; something very unusual for us considering Asper's talkative nature. Then, once again, the door opens and a Peacekeeper enters. Asper takes that as her cue to leave. She gets up and gives me a quick, firm hug before leaving. She turns and waves goodbye right before the door closes.

I know who's going to visit me next before he even comes in. I'm also pretty sure I know what he'll say and do. Sure enough, Otto steps inside and immediately warps his arms around my waist. I put mine around his neck he puts his forehead on my shoulder.

"Why didn't you pick me?" he mumbles.

My throat closes up and tears start to roll down my cheeks again. I shake my head. "There's no way I was dragging you into this," I whimper.

He lifts up his head and cups my face in his hands. "Why not? If you would have picked me I could at least do something. Now, if you're starving or hurt, I can't do anything." The pain in his blue eyes is clear as water.

I close my eyes, shaking my head. "No. I just… I couldn't risk the possibility of you dying. Because of me," I say, covering his hands with mine. "I just couldn't," I whisper. The pain swelling in my chest is beginning to get unbearable.

I open my eyes and he shakes his head. "What about this Aiden kid. Who is he? Do you even know him?"

I swallow and shake my head. "Not really. He's from the Seam, but he hunts. Like Katniss," I say, hoping the fact is encouraging. "He knows how to survive."

"How do you know he's gonna help you?"

My heart drops. I hadn't even thought of that. "I don't," I admit. "But… he has to. I'll just have to show him that I'm not gonna be a burden. Or maybe he'll think we have a better chance if we work together. I'll figure something out."

He shakes his head and looks away for a moment. Then he looks back at me, right into my eyes. "Lacey," he starts, and takes a deep breath, "I love you."

It's the first time he's actually said that to me. It shocks me at first, but I quickly regain my composure. "I love you, too."

He leans forward and kisses me, deep, long, and hard. He slides his arms down around my waist and I sigh, draping my arms over his shoulders. Otto has kissed me before: little pecks here and there. But nothing like this. My heart stops about a hundred times in the twenty seconds our lips are locked together.

And then suddenly it's all over. Someone coughs, and I realize a Peacekeeper has entered once again and is signaling for Otto to leave. I look down and sigh.

Otto quickly kisses me once again on the lips, then the cheek, nose, forehead. He whispers, 'I'll be waiting for you," before turning and leaving. The Peacekeeper shuts the door behind him.

I sit back down, thinking my goodbyes are over. The door opens, and I expect to be escorted into a car that will take me away from District 12—probably forever. But when I look up I see that Madge has entered the room. I stand up as she struts right up to me, unsure of what I should expect.

"Will you wear this in the arena?" she asks without hesitation. She holds out her hand, and I see with shocking realization that it's the mockingjay pin Katniss wore in the arena.

I don't know exactly how to react, so I stammer, "W-what?"

"Please wear it. It's symbolic." Symbolic? Of what? If it's good luck, Madge has another thing coming to her.

I don't want to be rude, though, so I accept her gift with a nod. She presses it into my hand before I can even hold it out to her.

"Good luck," she says before turning and leaving as quickly as she came in, leaving me standing there completely dumbfounded.

The train station is a short car ride away, and I find it's swarming with reporters and their cameras. I look at one of the televisions on the wall broadcasting our arrival to see that it's clear that I've been crying. I glance around at my fellow tributes to see that I can't say the same for them.

We have to stand in front of the train for a minute to let the cameras get a quick glimpse of our faces, then the doors close and we start moving. Effie shows us each to our own chambers, equipped with a bedroom, dressing area, and private bathroom. While splashing water onto my face in the sink, I find it has hot and cold running water. Even as some of the richer citizens of District 12, we have to boil water to get it hot.

Effie Trinket tells me I can do whatever I want as long as I'm ready for supper in an hour. I collapse onto the bed, and it's only then that I realize just how exhausted I am already. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know Effie Trinket is pounding at my door, yelling at me for being late. I spring out of the bed and quickly smooth my hair and dress down. She gives me an angry look when I open the door and I apologizing before following her down the rocking corridor.

She presses a button and a door slides open, and I follow her inside. She slips past someone who stands in our way, but I look up just in time to find my path blocked by Aiden Perthshire.

I stand there with my heart beating like a frightened rabbit's, completely frozen by his piercing glare. Dark brown hair drips like liquid iron into his fiery, amber eyes. They're an unusual color for District 12, especially since he's from the Seam, but they're somewhat fitting since we'll probably be wearing fire. His jaw is set and his tan skin is stretched tight over his sharp cheekbones. I notice that anger from before, making him seem almost menacing.

"I'm sorry." I barely manage to croak out my only defense.

I see his jaw move as his teeth clench, and I know I'm going to need to react to something in a second. But before I can even wonder what he might do, his hand cracks across my cheek and I stumble against the wall.

I hold my hand against my face, blinking back tears as pain shoots through my jaw. Effie Trinket squeals and someone else gasps. I see Aiden rush past me and hear the door open and close. Then Effie is beside me, asking me if I'm alright, saying "Oh my goodness" over and over again.

"I'll be right back," Haymitch says as he brushes past us.

Effie Trinket nods and helps me to the table. "I'll go get you some ice," she says before scurrying out in her sparkly heels.

I hold my cheek with one hand and pinch the bridge of my nose with the other. Aiden hates me. He absolutely hates me. My chances of getting out of the arena alive have certainly been reduced by quite a bit. I shake my head and glance up at the other two tributes to find them both staring at me. They quickly look down and I feel color rising to my cheeks. I can't help but hope I die of embarrassment before I even each the arena.

Effie Trinket returns moments later with a bag of ice wrapped in a small towel and tells me to hold it on my cheek. "Oh, I really hope it doesn't leave a mark," she squeals taking the seat next to me.

"Yeah," I agree half-heartedly.

Effie continues to ramble a bit about procedure once we reach the Capitol, but I don't pay much attention. Instead, I try to think of how I'm going to make it out of the arena alive without Aiden on my side. Hopefully someone from the other districts will deem me a valuable ally and let me team up with them for a while. Maybe I could even sneak into the Career pack. If not, I could just try training really hard and hope my efforts are good enough.

A few minutes pass before the door to the compartment opens again. Haymitch enters, a small hint of smugness on his face, followed by Aiden, his head down and his shoulders hunched. Haymitch takes the seat next to Effie Trinket, and Aiden the one next to him. Subsequently, a door on the other side of the compartment opens and beholds half a dozen people carrying an array of foods I could never even dream of pronouncing correctly.

Dinner is served in courses. A green salad, pasta with chicken and broccoli, beef and vegetable stew, fish cooked in a variety of spices, fruits with a sweet and creamy dip, and an apple pie sprinkled with cinnamon and drizzled with caramel.

The other two tributes—whose names I had forgotten earlier but now remember are Flynn and Wren—and I don't hold back except when Effie Trinket tells us to leave room for more. I've never had food this rich, delicious, and plentiful. Aiden, on the other hand, hardly eats anything. I can see he'd like to, but somewhere between the fish and the fruits I realize why he's holding back.

Back home, almost every family in District 12 is struggling to put food on the table. Some aren't even that lucky. My appetite is significantly reduced by this thought, and only the pure allure of the pie gets me to have another few bites to eat. Even after cutting down on my consumption, my stomach still feels like it's about to burst when we finally finish the meal.

We go to another compartment—furnished with vibrant sofas, chairs, small tables, and a large television—and watch the other reapings while our stomachs work on digesting the monstrous amount of food in our stomachs. I pay close attention to each of the forty-four tributes that step forward, wondering who will deem me worthy enough to struggle through the first half of the Games alongside them, and who will be hunting me down day and night.

Districts 1 and 2 behold the strong, beautiful, and lethal Careers they always present. District 4 also offers Careers, and the girls look so much alike they could be sisters, but their different last names prove they might be cousins. Two twelves are reaped from 5, and one picks a sibling and the other a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old. District 7 manages a decent crew of older kids who look like they all chop down huge trees with their bare hands every day. District 8, where there had been a few small uprisings a few months ago, gives their tributes a very familiar three-finger salute before there broadcast is abruptly cut off.

"I heard the crowd started going completely wild," Effie chirps. "Rushing Peacekeepers, breaking things. An absolute mess." She shakes her head, clicking her tongue.

I look at her for a moment, wanting to say something. But I'm not sure what, so I turn my attention back to the television where the District 11 tributes are being reaped. The crowd there also gives the salute, but it seems they stayed calm besides that. Then they're showing us.

Effie Trinket announces my name, and then the cameras find me just as I realize I've been reaped. Then Flynn is called, and then it's my turn to choose someone to go into the arena. I can really see how angry Aiden was now that the cameras are zoomed in on his face. They show a brief shot of him as the crowd gives the salute, and his expression softens in the slightest bit. I glance over at him now.

He sits forward in his chair, whatever emotions that may be boiling inside him masked by the stoic expression on his face. His fists, resting on his knees, are clenched.

The announcers make a few comments; one wonders what District 12 has in store for them this year. Then Effie Trinket urges us to get some beauty sleep since we have such a "big, big, big day" tomorrow. Aiden makes haste in his exit as usual, and Flynn tells Wren goodnight before leaving. Wren, though, grabs me gently by the shoulder as I'm also about to exit the compartment.

"I haven't had a chance to really introduce myself yet," she says. Her dark brown hair is held back in a short braid, and she pushes a stray strand behind her ear. "Wren Dunbryll."

She holds out her hand, and I give her a quizzical look before shaking it. "Lacey Dawn."

She nods and her lips curl up in a small smile. "Well, we should be getting to bed. Sweet dreams." She brushes past me and I follow a few seconds later, all the while wonder why she's being so warm to me all of a sudden.

Then I think, _She knows I'm scared. She's trying to comfort me._

My first reaction is to be embarrassed. Wren is younger than me; maybe fifteen at the oldest. _I _should be the one comforting _her._ But then I realize that at least someone's on my side.

With that thought in mind, I manage to get through my first night as a tribute quite peacefully.


	4. Chapter 4

When I wake up the next morning, I don't expect to be on a train speeding towards the Capitol. It feels strange to not have to get up early for school or to open up shop. The clock on my nightstand tells me it's seven o' clock, and I try to fall back asleep but my body just won't let me.

I get out of bed and shower, turning the water to the perfect temperature and pressing buttons that seem to clean me inside and out. I wrap a towel around myself, then stick my hand in a box that instantly dries my hair and separate each individual knot.

The hardest part about preparing for the Games, I think, will be choosing what to wear. The panel on my closet gives me a choice between dozens of shirts, skirts, pants, dresses, jackets, shoes, even wigs. I wonder for a moment what Effie Trinket's real hair color is, or if she even has any.

I settle on a blue dress and some sandals, then go to the dining cart. No one is there, unsurprisingly. I wonder if I should just go back in my room and wait for Effie to announce my "big, big, big" day, but the large array of pastries set out changes my mind. After making myself a plate and pouring a glass of orange juice, I sit in one of the plush blue chairs, watching the landscape pass by.

Effie Trinket comes in a few minutes later, already twice as peppy as usual. "You're up early," she says, seeming quite pleased.

I shrug and she pours herself a glass of water. I wait for her to gulp it down, and she finishes with a satisfied "Ahh."

"Well, I suppose I should go get the others up," she says with a smile.

I nod, and she skips off and through the door. Through the window, I can see something in the distance; tall columns that seem to reach all the way up to the sky. As the train gets closer, I stand up and press my hand against the glass, wondering what the strange structures are.

"District 1." I jump at the sound of Effie's voice in my ear. I didn't even hear her come back in.

"What are those?" I ask pointing to the structures.

"What are what, dear?" she replies.

"Those tall things," I say.

She gives me a quizzical look. "The skyscrapers?"

I stare at her.

"You've never seen one before?" she asks, and I shake my head. "Ooo!" she squeals, clapping her hands. "You're in for a real treat when we get to the Capitol. District 1 only has a few, but the Capitol is full of them. And they're much more luxurious."

She goes on for a bit about how incredible the Capitol is, and I'm absolutely captivated. Hearing about the different people, places, and activities; it's like learning about a completely different species.

Effie tells me about the different alterations people have done to their bodies: dyed skin, shaped teeth, implants to resemble different animals. She describes a woman with hair that stood five feet on top of her head, a man with skin sewn onto his arms and back to make him look like he has bat wings, a woman with nails a full twelve inches long.

The various careers are completely foreign. Among the assortment of jobs that have to do with the Hunger Games—stylists, cameramen, Gamemakers—there's actors, chefs, fashion designers, models. No factory workers, or miners, or lumberjacks like in the districts. They live lives of luxury, with time to go shopping and watch television and worry about what color they should dye their hair next.

I can't wait to arrive at the Capitol, to finally see these strange creatures for myself.

While Effie was telling me her exotic tales, my fellow tributes made their way silently into the compartment. When I turn around, they all look down simultaneously, and I realize they must have been staring at us. Aiden shakes his head.

At the sound of a door, we all turn our heads to see Haymitch enter.

"Oh, good," Effie trills. "We're all here. Why don't we sit down? Breakfast should be out soon."

We do as Effie suggests and sit down at the table, in the same seats as the night before. The kitchen door opens seconds later, as if it had been waiting for Effie's signal, and yields the same servants with their silver platters. Breakfast isn't as diverse as dinner, but it's just as extravagant. I gorge myself on bagels, waffles, eggs, ham, cheese. We haven't even gotten to the Capitol yet and I feel like I've already gained ten pounds.

When we finish eating, Aiden speaks.

"So, _mentor." _ He says the word as if he's challenging Haymitch's title. "What's our strategy?"

Haymitch raises and eyebrow, a signal that he's accepted Aiden's challenge. "Your strategy? Stay alive."

Aiden grips the edge of the table. "_I know that,"_ he growls. "How do you suggest we do that?"

Haymitch leans back and folds his hands across his chest. "Stick together, make a large alliance, find sources of food and water—"

"Make an alliance?" Aiden says in a tone of disbelief. "You want us to make an alliance with people who want to kill us, who we need to kill to _stay alive?"_

Haymitch nods. "Precisely."

Aiden cocks his head at him. "Alight then. That's it? That's all we do? No star-crossed lovers this year?"

Haymitch glares at Aiden, and very simply says, "No."

"What it real?" Wren speaks up. "The 'star-crossed lovers' thing."

Haymitch looks at her and purses his lips. Then he shrugs. "I don't know."

Wren furrows her brow. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't know," Haymitch replies, sounding each word out slowly.

"How can you not know? You were their mentor," Wren argues. "Was it real?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "The only two people who could tell you that are dead."

"But—"

"Enough," Haymitch barks.

Aiden, who has been watching the conversation with what seems like great interest, shakes his head incredulously. He huffs and sits back in his chair. "Whatever you say."

Suddenly, the windows go dark, and I realize we must have entered the tunnel that runs through the mountains to the Capitol.

Effie squeals. "We're almost there!" she says, then turns to me and gives me a huge smile.

I glance at Flynn and Wren to see if either of them makes a move. Wren shrugs and looks down, and Flynn simply flicks his eyes towards me for a moment. I don't even bother to look at Aiden. Instead, I stand and go to the window, preparing myself for my first impression of the Capitol. The train makes a high-pitched sound and starts to slow, the blackness of the tunnel starting to fade to grey. And then suddenly—

I squint and lift my hand to shield my eyes from the blinding light. We come to a halt, and I take in the strange new world before me.

An ocean of colors more vibrant than anything I've ever seen before. Shapes start to form: the shimmering buildings and the exuberant people. Their hair, their bodies, their clothes really do make them seem like a different species. I can faintly hear their cheering and screaming, and I laugh. People jump up and down in excitement, some waving animatedly. I wave back.

Then Wren is beside me, Flynn close behind. They don't wave, but Wren smiles timidly.

I turn to Haymitch, suddenly wondering if he approves of my behavior. He nods slightly, and I smile and continue waving. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Aiden has not risen from his seat. Haymitch leans over to him, and I just barely hear the words that pass through his lips.

"You're lucky she's your partner; something tells me the crowds will find it hard to like you."

**~/***\~**

I sit in a sudsy tub while a woman named Octavia rubs my skin raw with a gritty foam. She's a plump woman with pale green skin and three-inch nails. She puts down the foam and kneads a sweet-smelling soap in my hair, squealing:

"Your hair is so beautiful! It's like… like…" She stops scrubbing. "Falvius? What color would you call this?"

A man with bright orange corkscrew curls who has been filing my nails to perfect little ovals looks up. He cocks is head at me for a moment. "Strawberry blonde, I think," he replies before going back to work.

"It though it was more golden," Octavia says. "I can't wait to see what Cinna does with it."

_Hopefully nothing too dramatic,_ I think. But judging by his work on Katniss, I'll probably be safe from anything outrageous.

Octavia gives me a quick rinse and dry before sending me to a blue-haired woman named Venia. Her job is much more torturous for me. She sticks strips of hot wax on my arms, legs, and any other part of my body that grows hair besides my head and then rips them off. I grit my teeth each time, but don't say anything so I don't distract her.

"You're nowhere near as hairy as Katniss," she comments as she applies one of the strips to my arm. I look up at her just in time to see a somber look on her face. Then it disappears and she smiles. "Last one!" She tears it off and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Now I stand in the middle of a room, my newly sensitive skin exposed to the world like a newborn baby's. My prep team circles me, ready to fix any tiny imperfection they find, their eyes probing me from head to toe. No matter how inhuman these people seem to me, I'm still itching to cover myself.

"I think you're all ready!" Venia squeals. "Cinna should be here soon."

As soon as they leave, I scramble for the robe hanging off the back of a chair and quickly throw it on. I really hope Cinna doesn't make me take it back off.

Cinna. The thought of him sends questions racing through my mind. What will he think of me? Will he set me on fire? What if I don't meet his standards? Will he be disappointed that I'm not like Katniss?

I jump at the sound of the door, and turn to find a man standing there. He's tall and handsome, with tan skin and dark hair, a simple streak of golden liner on each eye.

"Hello," he says. His voice lacks the typical Capitol accent. "My name is Cinna."

"I'm Lacey," I say quietly.

"Just let me have a look at you for a moment," he says.

I nod, waiting for him to ask me to take off the robe. But he must sense my anxiety since he doesn't.

He circles me a few times, taking in every detail.

Then he stops in front of me and I look up at him. "Am I going to be on fire?"

Cinna smiles, slightly amused. "Sort of." He must see the look on my face, because he adds, "Don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe."

I relax a bit.

"Before I say anything else: About your hair," he starts. "I was originally planning to just braid it—"

"Like Katniss?" I interrupt. The generalization makes me feel like simply another piece in his Games.

"Well, yes," he sighs, a look of regret on his face. "But, now that I've had a chance to really see you…" He pauses, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "You're hair is just too pretty to confine like that."

I blush and smile a little. "Thank you."

"Of course," Cinna nods. "Now, let's have a little talk about your outfit."

We go into another room and Cinna explains the premise of my costume for the opening ceremonies. After, he invites my prep team back in and they get right to work. They give my hair a few cuts here and there and run a "curling iron" through it to give it some volume. They apply makeup: some black, gold, red and orange around my eyes; dark shades on my cheeks; deep purple lipstick. Then Cinna has me dressed in a simple black jumpsuit and places a half crown made of black metal on my head.

My prep team stands back as Cinna adjusts the light in the room so that it's almost pitch dark. Then he presses a button inside the fabric on my wrist, and my costume suddenly comes to life.

I am the glowing embers of a fire, reds and oranges and yellows shifting over my body like burning coals in a fireplace.

"Wow," I breath.

I see Cinna smile. "Come look at yourself." He leads me to the mirror, where an even more shocking image awaits me.

I am not the girl on fire. I _am _fire. A strange being straight from the molten depths of a volcano, who bathes in rivers of lava and radiates power like a million suns. The crown also glows, casting shadows on my face that exaggerate the make up there. I can't even believe this is really me I'm looking at.

"I look…" I start, but I can't think of the right word. I settle on incredible.

Cinna presses the button again, extinguishing the flames. "Now, Haymitch tells me you did a good job of getting the audience to like you at the train station. Now it's time to be intimidating. You don't want people to think you're all glamour and gloss. They need to know you're tough enough to make it through the Games."

_Tough, _I think. It's a long shot, but I guess I can try. I nod.

"No smiling, no waving. Just look straight ahead with your head up, like you're above everyone," he instructs.

I take a deep breath and nod. "I'll try."

We meet Aiden, accompanied by his stylist Portia and her team. He's dressed in the same costume as me. If I look powerful, he looks absolutely invincible. He flicks his eyes over me once, and the single movement makes me feel like I'm naked and waiting for my every little imperfection to be pointed out to me again. I look down at the floor, afraid his eyes might burn right through me.

We ride an elevator down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, where a giant stable awaits with our horses and chariots. Haymitch awaits us there. Each chariot and its horses match the tributes outfits, and ours are both pitch black.

As we join Haymitch, I notice we're some of the first to arrive. The few others in the stable are either talking amongst themselves or milling about.

Haymitch encourages us to walk around and introduced ourselves to the other tributes, see who we want in an alliance. Aiden, of course, shoots down the idea immediately and plops down on the floor of our chariot. I'm not really the social type either, so I stand by the horses. As I stroke one's mane, I wonder how they're so incredibly calm. Probably some sort of drug or genetic enhancement by the Capitol.

"Nice costume, twelve." I jump at the sound of a voice, both because of its suddenness and because it's right in my ear.

"Thanks," I say—more instinctively than genuinely. When I turn around, I meet sea green eyes brushed by light brown hair. The boy steps back, revealing a female companion standing behind him. They're both dressed only in fishing nets, strategically knotted so they're not completely naked.

"Calder," he says holding out a tanned hand.

I blink a few times before taking it, the coarse skin of his palm scratching mine. "Lacey."

Calder smiles. "This is Kendra," he says gesturing to the girl behind him. She gives me an enthusiastic wave and flips her curly blonde hair over her shoulders.

"Nice to meet you," I say to both of them. If I remember correctly, the tributes from District 4 this year are volunteers, which means they're definitely Careers.

_Make an alliance. _Haymitch's voice echoes in my head.

But how do I do that? Do I just ask politely if someone will help me not die in the arena? Is there some sort of unspoken agreement that just… happens at some point?

While my mind is racing, Calder continues our conversation. "So, quite an interesting end to the Games last year."

"Oh!" Kendra exclaims jumping between us. "'The Star-Crossed Lovers!' I know you're supposed to want your own district to win, but our tributes were so boring and it was just so hard not to love Katniss and Peeta… Did you know them? Was it really real? I mean, of course it was; how do you fake that? But did Peeta really like her all that time?"

Kendra talks so much and so animatedly that I think of Asper, and that hits me hard in the chest. I quickly swallow the lump in my throat.

"I don't know," I respond. "I didn't really know either of them that well."

There's a hint of disappointment, but the bright, bubbly smile never leaves her face. "Oh well," she says. "I guess we weren't meant to know, then."

I glance around to see most of the other tributes have arrived and have started loading into their chariots.

Calder seems to notice this, too. "We better get going," he says. "Nice meeting you, Lacey." He gives me an almost flirtatious smile, and Kendra waves before they both turn and leave.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and stand next to the chariot. Wren and Flynn have also arrived and are climbing into theirs, and Aiden stands.

"Having fun?" he asks out of the corner of his mouth before stepping up into our chariot. I blush and subconsciously run a hand through my hair. I climb up after him, and at that moment Haymitch returns from I-don't-know-where, and Effie follows close behind.

"All set?" Haymitch asks.

As if waiting for his signal, the huge doors of the stable begin to open, and the thunderous sound of the crowd erupts into the cavernous area. I see District 1's chariots start to move, and then the others slowly after.

Then I catch a glow out of the corner my eye, and I see that Aiden has turned on his costume. For a moment, I feel like there is some great barrier between us, blocking Aiden's light and casting a shadow on me. I fear that if I turn my costume on it will only be engulfed by his fire.

I look away and press the button on the inside of my sleeve, concentrating on looking strong and confident like Cinna said.

My heart picks up speed as each chariot starts to move. I feel unsteady, and instinct tells me to grab hold of something. But the only thing available is Aiden's hand, and I don't think he or Cinna would approve of that. Then suddenly we're moving, and I will myself not to fall over.

The noise of the crowd seems to double as we peel out of the stable. I try not to let my shock show on my face. Instead, I imagine all of my bravery and confidence swelling up and then bursting out. I stick my chin up and out and stare ahead. The crowd—thousands of people, maybe even a million—screams and cheers and yells my name. Despite how much I want to smile and wave and catch the kisses they blow me, I don't give them more than a glance. Cinna's right: I need to make myself seem intimidating. This may be my only chance to do so.

And thankfully, I can see I'm doing just that. The screens along the route show shots of each chariot, but I only really pay attention when we're on. We are dark and powerful, and I'm finding it a bit easier to believe the girl on the screen is really me.

We curve around the City Circle, and when Flynn and Wren's chariot stops beside us, I look around at my fellow tributes. District 2 is adorned in shining silver armor, and 3 is in light bulb-studded outfits. Some stylists have tried (and failed, in my opinion) to imitate Cinna's flames. District 1 wears fiery headdresses with shiny red outfits, and District 10's stylists had the audacious idea to dress their tributes up as cows with flaming belts. It's like they're trying to cook them for dinner tonight. As I'm glancing around at the tributes, I catch one of the girls form District 11 gawking at us. I take a quick break from my stone coldness to smile at her, but she quickly looks down.

The crowd hushes just slightly and I look up to where President Snow has stepped forward to the balcony. He welcomes us, says something about what a fine bunch of tributes we have this year. He ends his speech by announcing once again that this year's Hunger Games are a reminder that our choice can either "lift us up or bring us down."

We turn and leave in our chariots, and the crowd starts its uproar once again. Even after the stable doors close behind us, their screams still echo.

Before our chariot even comes to a stop, Aiden extinguishes his costume and jumps off, heading straight for the elevators. I look after him and sigh, then step down myself. Cinna is there waiting, along with Haymitch and Effie. Portia has gone after Aiden.

"You did great," Cinna says putting a hand on my shoulder.

"That was incredible!" Effie squeals. "You all looked magnificent." She makes sure to turn to Flynn and Wren as she says this. She babbles some more to their stylists, who I'm now seeing for the first time.

"You really looked great," Cinna says giving me a smile.

I return the expression and reply, "Thank you."

"Why don't you go back and get changed?" he suggests. "Your prep team will be there to help you get cleaned up."

I nod. "What about you?"

He pauses for a second, then says, "I have some things to do. I'll see you at dinner." He pats my shoulder and starts to turn me towards the elevators. There's really no need to question him, so I decide to do as he says.

When I get to the elevators, a tree is also there waiting. Well, not a tree, but a girl dressed up as a tree, definitely District 7. She taps her foot impatiently and looks very unhappy.

An elevator arrives and she goes in first. As soon as the doors close, she turns to me and asks, "Do you mind if I take this off?" There's a scratchiness to her voice that makes her sound very tough.

My first reaction is to go "uh…", but I quickly recover and reply, "I guess not."

Without hesitation, she squirms and rips out of the costume like a wild animal, leaving her only in her lingerie.

_At least she's not naked, _I think.

She leans against the wall and says, "Games should be interesting this year."

There's something about her voice—the calmness, the authority—that makes me feel like she knows something I don't.

The elevator dings when it reaches the seventh floor and the doors open.

"See you around, twelve," she says as she walks out, leaving her ruined costume in the elevator with me.


	5. Chapter 5

When the doors of the elevator open and I see our living quarters for the first time, the lavishness hits me even harder than that of the train. Our floor is huge: a living area with plush furniture and a large television screen; a balcony that looks over the city; a dining room with one long table decorated with blue vases filled with purple azaleas.

I pluck one of the flowers and smell it, but the scent isn't quite right. Upon closer inspection, I find the flower isn't even real; just some plastic, wax, and fabric.

For the first time, my heart really aches for home and tears sting my eyes.

I jump at the sound of the elevator doors opening and quickly rub my eyes. I turn around to meet Haymitch and Effie, keeping my head down so my hair obscures my face.

Effie, even bubblier than usual, skips up to me. "Come on, dear. I'll show you to your room. Dinner should be here soon."

I wait for her to say something, ask me what's the matter, but she never does. I let out a sigh of relief as she leads me down a hallway. A door slides open and Effie tells me if I'm not out by dinner she'll come get me. I step into the room and the door closes behind me.

My room is much the same as the one on the train except about twice as big. I slip out of my costume and lay it on the bed, not sure what else to do with it. The shower is also the same as the one on the train, and I wonder how many times I've bathed so far. It seems like a lot, even though it's only two. I decide I want to smell like peaches and press the appropriate buttons to fulfill my wish. Afterwards, I place my hand in the hair-drying box and pick an outfit from the closet.

I sit down on the bed, where my costume has disappeared from, and pick up the small console on the nightstand. The screen lights up when I press a button on the side, presenting me with a plethora of options.

I tap my finger on the option that says _BEDDING_ and the screen changes to a bunch of blocks of different colors and patterns. I select a pink one and jump when the sheets change colors right before my eyes. I select another one, then another, and another.

I stand up and walk around the room, changing the color of the walls and carpet, the pictures on the wall, even the temperature and humidity. I change the view from my window, from the city skyline to a desert to a jungle.

Someone knocks on the door. I set the remote on the bed before answering it.

"Ready?" Effie chimes.

I follow her down the corridor to the living area. Haymitch is already seated—clean and sober—and Cinna and Portia chat on the couch. Wren and Flynn are on the balcony with the other stylists—Milo and Antonia, I think.

Effie calls us all to the table as a door opens off to the side. Servants enter carrying plates of food, dressed in the same sleek white garb as those on the train, I notice. One of them, a man with bright red hair, looks familiar somehow. I try to get a good look at his face, but he won't look up.

"Avoxes," Wren whispers beside me. "Criminals who… have their tongues cut out… and are forced to serve the Capitol for the rest of their lives." It seems like she's trying really hard to get the words out.

I look at her for a moment, shocked. What kind of crime would someone have to commit to receive such an… odd punishment? And how does Wren know so much about it?

"Haymitch told me," she says quickly, seeming to sense my curiosity. I wait for her to say more, but she starts to scoop food onto her plate. I take that as a sign that she's done talking and I do the same.

Suddenly, Effie speaks up. "What is taking Aiden so long?" she chirps impatiently. She takes her napkin off her lap and sets it on the table, then stands and marches down the hallway—if that's even possible in those shoes. She returns a few minutes later, a look of content on her face, Aiden drudging in behind her.

Effie sits down, but he doesn't follow her example. Instead, he piles a plate with food and leaves without a sound. Effie stares at him as he goes, a look of complete disbelief on her face.

I can't help but giggle, but I cover my mouth before anyone notices.

We eat, and I find that this meal is even more delicious than the one on the train. Effie, still slightly fazed by Aiden's actions, congratulates us on a great start and says something about sponsors.

No real conversation starts until we've finished dinner. Haymitch wipes his mouth and leans back in his chair, letting out a sigh.

"Flynn," he starts, "why did you choose Wren as your partner?"

Flynn blinks a few times, then says, "Well, we've worked together in class before, so I figured we'd be able to work well together in the Games."

This is the first time I realize Wren is younger than me. She just seemed so wise and insightful I figured she had to be older. It's like someone quadruple her age is trapped inside the body of a fifteen-year-old.

"Lacey." I jump when Haymitch says my name. "Why did you choose Aiden?"

I feel my face turn red. "I… I thought…" I can't figure out what to say; my mind is a jumbled mess. And the fact that all eyes are on me doesn't help. I hate talking in front of more than a few people, which would explain why my Language Arts grade was always so low.

"Lacey." Haymitch's voice pulls me back into reality.

"I… I figured he'd know how to survive," I mumble, hoping my answer will satisfy him and prompt him to draw the attention away from me. But it doesn't.

Haymitch sighs. "Lacey, did you know Aiden before the Games?"

I look down at my lap. "I've seen him in school."

"Have you ever _talked _to him before?"

"Yes," I utter, remember the day in the flower shop.

"About what?"

I hesitate. "Flowers," I say.

"Flowers?" Haymitch repeats, a tone of disbelief in his voice.

"My dad's a florist," I explain. "He came in to buy flowers one day." I think back to the conversation and add, "They were for his sister."

A thought pops up in the back of my mind.

_I took him away from his sister._

Haymitch says nothing, but I can feel him staring at me. Suddenly, all that food in my stomach feels like a monster, tearing at my insides with jagged claws, desperately seeking a way out.

I can't take it anymore. I stand up and run to my room, not sure if I'm going to cry, scream, throw up, or do a mixture of the three. When I get to my door, I hear footsteps behind me. I fumble for the button to open it, but my haste makes me clumsy. By the time the door slides open, a hand is on my shoulder.

"Lacey, wait." The voice is Cinna's, and he gently turns me around to face him. I don't look up, though.

"Lacey, you have to understand. He's not just picking on you. Haymitch has the same attitude with everyone," Cinna explains.

"But he's right," I retort. "I shouldn't have picked Aiden. There were other people I could have picked. I just… I don't know. I got scared."

Cinna sighs. "That's okay." Then he pulls me close to him and I can't help but hug him back. Despite only knowing him for a day, his embrace has a sense of home to it.

"We all get scared sometimes," Cinna says, and the statement has a calming effect on me. He gives me one last comforting squeeze before suggesting I get some sleep. I'm going to need all the energy I can get for training tomorrow.

**~/***\~**

I sleep in the next morning—well, more like lay in bed because I don't want to face everyone. But around ten, Effie comes knocking on my door, and I roll out of bed resentfully. I pull my hair up in a high ponytail and put on a more practical outfit—blue shirt, sleek pants, and tennis shoes.

I find I'm the last person to arrive for breakfast, and before I can even sit down Haymitch stands up and gestures for me to follow him. My heart drops and my eyes go to Cinna. Only when he nods his approval do I meet Haymitch on the balcony.

"Cinna wants me to apologize." The tone of his voice tells me he's probably not going to do so. "I suppose I was a little harsh. After all, it's not like you can change your partner."

I nod and swallow. "Just… Can you tell me what you think I can do to get him to… you know, work with me?"

He sighs and looks up. I too look up at the sky. It's clear and blue, just as it was yesterday. I wonder if maybe the Capitol has some way of controlling the weather. Anytime I've ever seen it—on television, of course—it's always bright and sunny. Even the temperature is perfect: not too hot, not too cold.

"Lacey."

"Huh?" I say when Haymitch's voice pulls me from my thoughts.

"Were you listening to me?" he asks.

I blush and nod my head, but Haymitch raises an eyebrow.

I sigh. "No. I'm sorry."

I see his muscles tense as he clenches his jaw, and I'm thankful he holds back his anger. "I was saying," he begins in an annoyed tone, "that during training, try to show him that you'll work hard and won't be a burden. Or at least that you'll try. Maybe that'll encourage him."

"Maybe?" I ask, swayed by his uncertainty.

"Do you want my advice or not?" he snaps.

I jump. "Yes," I say quickly. "Sorry," I add.

"Alright, then." He turns to leave but stops. "One more thing: Stop apologizing so much. It's nice… thoughtful, I guess. But it gets annoying."

Instinctively, I open my mouth to do just so, but I stop myself and just nod.

During breakfast, we discuss training. Haymitch asks us each for our strengths: Wren's father is a butcher, so she knows how to prepare meat. She also adds that she's pretty good with knives. Flynn jokes that he knows how to go without food for a long time, but when no one laughs he quickly says that he'll learn some other skills.

Then it's my turn. "I know a lot about plants, like what can be eaten and what would be poisonous." I glance at Aiden for a second and remember what Haymitch told me. "And I'll learn how to fight."

Haymitch nods his approval, then turns to Aiden. "And you, sunshine. What are you good at?"

Aiden glares at him for a moment before leaning forward. "I can hunt, bow and arrow mainly, but I can use any type of blade. I'll do whatever I have to do to get home."

The certainty in his voice sets me on edge. It's intimidating, frightening.

I decide then that Aiden Perthshire, the boy with the fiery eyes, is fascinating.

"Alright then," Haymitch begins. "Training today. Work on developing survival skills. Spend a little time with weapons but not too much. Don't show off. Save your best skills for your private session."

He takes a long drink from his glass—I'm not quite sure what he's drinking—before adding, "And see if you can't make a few friends."

After breakfast, we take the elevator down to the basement level of the building. A few of the other districts are already there, including Calder and Kendra. She waves, he winks.

Once the rest of the tributes arrive, a muscular woman named Atala introduces herself and explains the different training stations. There're experts in combat, survival, plant identification, and various other skills spread throughout the room. She dismisses us, and I turn to find that Aiden has gone straight for the weapons station.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Flynn and Wren walking towards the survival station and I follow. There, a young woman with striking red hair demonstrates how to start a fire, then allows us to try it ourselves. After rubbing two pieces of wood together for about ten minutes to no avail, I give up and ask the woman to teach me some other skills. She shows me different resources I can use to camouflage myself, and I take to that much better than the fire.

Flynn, who I didn't realize was no longer at the station, returns and gestures me and Wren towards him.

"I just talked to the guy's team from District 7," he says, but I can tell by the expression on his face the conversation didn't go well. "They pretty much refused to be in an alliance with us. Any other ideas?"

I'm about to shake my head, but then I remember Calder and Kendra. I look around for them and find them at the weapons station with the other tributes from their district.

"I'll be back," I say without further explanation.

"Well, look who it is," Calder says as I approach them.

"Hi, Lacey!" Kendra sings. Her personality must be contagious, because I can't help but smile. "C'mere," she says grabbing my arm and pulling towards her fellow tributes. "Lacey, this is Molly and Kai. Molly and Kai, this is Lacey."

Kai, a boy with dark hair and angular features, gives me a friendly smile. Molly, on the other hand, simply nods. She and Kendra may look alike—same tan skin, curly blonde hair, and ocean blue eyes—but their personalities are complete opposites. They both go back to what they were doing: Molly, tossing spears; Kai sword-fighting with the station attendant.

"What brings you here?" Calder asks, laying his arm over my shoulders. My muscles tense up at his touch, and my thoughts wander to Otto. A part of me feels like I'm betraying him, being this close to Calder. I swallow and try to relax.

"I was wondering…" I start. I feel awkward. I still can't tell if we're technically in an alliance. "I was wondering if you could help me with some weapons."

Calder furrows his brow and his eyes dart to Kendra for a moment. The look on his face is almost devious. "Us? Lacey, there are a ton of people in this room whose only job is to do that."

I clench my jaw, already frustrated by him. I can tell we're going to have an interesting relationship. "I know," I breath. "I just… wanna make sure I can trust you."

His eyebrows shoot up and he grins. "What, did we give you a reason not to?"

_Not really, _I think.

"Not yet," I say.

"Alright then," Calder says. "Pick something, and I'll teach you how to use it." He gestures towards a section of wall covered in all types of weapons. Clubs, spears, knives, swords, daggers, bows; I don't know where to start.

I think of the previous Games, of some of the tributes and their various skills. The District 1 girl's deadly accuracy with throwing knives sticks out. I have good eyesight; I could be accurate. All I need to do is learn how to use them, and that seems easy enough.

"Well," Calder says after I express my choice. "They're not my cup of tea, but I'll make do."

He selects a few knives from the wall. As he does, I notice Kendra standing a few feet away, rocking from her heels to her toes. She smiles when she notices me looking at her.

I watch as Calder takes a few practice shots. The first knife hits the dummy in the shoulder, the second skims its cheek, and the last hits the forehead, dead center. When he seems confident in his abilities, he beckons me over to him.

"So, here's what you do." He shows me how to hold the knife: by the blade, apparently, which makes me nervous. But I don't back down.

Calder continues, arcing his arm slowly and showing me when to release. He then throws the knife, this time hitting the dummy in the chest.

He hands me a knife, and I take it carefully. Then he goes behind me and presses his body against my own, lining his arm up with mine. His warm breath tickles the back of my neck and sends shivers down my spine. My muscles tense up again, and I try to relax.

He moves my arm with his, demonstrating everything again. When I'm finally comfortable, he releases me. I stand there, preparing myself, hoping I'm not shaking as much as I think I am. I focus on my target—the dummy's chest—and take a deep breath.

I throw the knife, and it clatters against the wall above the dummy's head. What I'm more upset about, though, is the intense burning in my hand.

I gasp when I see the large cut across my hand. It oozes dark red blood, and I'm struck with fear of this new sensation.

"That could have gone better" is all Calder says before jogging away, hopefully to get a medic or something.

I hold my wounded hand with the other, trying to stop the blood from dripping onto the floor, trying not to panic. I feel absolutely ridiculous, and I can feel my face turning red.

I jump when a hand touches my shoulder.

"Don't worry," Kendra says, "no one's good on their first try." She smiles reassuringly.

Calder returns then with the attendee from the first-aid station. He pours antiseptic over my hand, making it sting, then wraps a piece of gauze around it tightly.

By the time he finishes, it's time to eat lunch. Calder and Kai push two tables together and I gesture for Flynn and Wren to join us.

"What's his problem?" Kai asks through a mouthful of food, pointing his fork behind me. I turn around to find Aiden sitting on his own, his back facing us.

"We're, um…" I glance up at Wren for a second, giving me some sort of reassurance even though she doesn't look back at me. "We're having trouble settling our differences," I explain.

Suddenly, I get a strange feeling, like something tugging at my guts. It's familiar: something I've felt before, but not quite. After a moment, I recognize it. It's how I felt about my mother when she first left me. Betrayed, abandoned. How could she do this to me?

I hate that feeling.

I feel like a monster.


End file.
